Black Halloween
by homesweethomicide13
Summary: Stay out of the shadows on All Hallows Eve. Pray he won't find you. WARNING: Contains dark themes. Sequel to Red Christmas.


**Title:** Black Halloween  
**Author:** homesweethomicide13  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Strong hints of Jarda  
**Warning:** If you read Red Christmas, it follows the same theme. Blood, violence, death.  
**Disclaimer:** I take full responsibility for Psycho!Barda, but I do not own Deltora Quest.  
**Summary:** Stay out of the shadows on All Hallows Eve. Pray he won't find you. WARNING: Contains dark themes. Sequel to Red Christmas.

**Black Halloween**

It was going to rain. Maybe in an hour or two, the heavens would open and drench the ground below with vast, sweeping tides of raindrops. The air felt damp and heavy, and he could taste water on his lips as he stood out in the open, breathing in the fresh air as if every breath was his last. He knew he shouldn't be stood out in plain sight like this. People were looking for him. They had been for nearly a year now, tracking his route from Del all across the country.

But they'd never find him. Not here.

He tilted his head back to gaze at the night sky, and the stars that broke up the blackness. The clouds that obscured most of the view were foreboding, in various shades of grey. They were as threatening as the darkness that surrounded them. The moon was currently hidden from sight, the only sign of its existence being a glimmer of light along one edge of a particularly nasty, thick, grey monstrosity of a cloud. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, tasting the water on his tongue and filling his lungs with the cool, damp air.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he was instantly alert, eyes snapping open in a second. He turned on the spot and relaxed only slightly when he saw the familiar figure standing in the shade of some trees not far from where he was. There was another shape at his feet – a dog, man's most faithful companion. If he squinted, he could see other shapes behind the first – the rest of the pack. With a slight smirk, he held out one hand. The tall figure by the trees stepped forward, boots thudding on the ground as he came closer. A gloved hand slipped into his outstretched one, and the figure was pulled out into the light.

"You shall catch a cold if this continues."

He laughed, sharply, and tightened his grip on the gloved hand. He cared nothing for the weather. It could snow, or rain, be hot, or cold, and he would not notice. However, he did not object when his companion tugged him forward into a warm embrace, and pulled a jacket halfway around him. Their lips met in a kiss that was neither tender nor fierce, but somewhere in between. Pulling back, he stared into his companion's emerald eyes and smiled – a ghost of his old self shining through. But that side of him was long gone, buried underneath layers of anger and betrayal.

It had been almost a year since something inside of him had snapped. Almost a year since he had decided enough was enough. He had been running ever since, always on the move, never looking back. And through all of this, one man had stood by his side. His friend. His confidante.

His lover.

"It is almost our anniversary." He murmured against the man's lips. He was given a dazzling smile in response.

"Almost a year." His breath was warm against his cheek as he spoke. "And what a year it has been." Their lips met again, and this time there was more heat, more desire. They pulled each other closer, bodies pressed tightly to one another, leaving no room between them. They only parted when the need for air became too great. This was how things were between them. They pushed themselves to their limits, seeing how far they could go before they needed to take a step back. Life was never boring for them. "I regret nothing. I see it when you look at me, sometimes. You wonder why I am still here, why I followed you across the country without hesitation. You wonder how can I possibly still love you after all that you have done, all that you have become." Hands were placed either side of his face, a comforting touch. "But you have nothing to fear. I will stand at your side forever, and nothing shall tear me away except death itself. My love for you is eternal, my blood-spattered prince of death."

"Jarred." He breathed out the name like it was holy. He leaned forward, but did not kiss his lover as the other man had expected. Instead he buried his face in the man's neck and inhaled the natural scent he adored. His Jarred. His light in the darkness. He had often pondered over Jarred's devotion to him, thinking that one day the scarred man would see sense and leave him, betray him like all the others. He hoped that would never happen, because the price of betrayal was death. He did not want to add his lover's blood to the rest that coated his hands. That might be too much, even for him.

"Come back into the trees. Put on your jacket, and sit with the dogs for warmth." Jarred was always trying to look after him, as if he was broken or lost. Although, perhaps, sometimes he needed a push in the right direction. Standing in the cold night in nothing but torn trousers in late October wasn't his best idea, especially since it was going to rain.

"You could always provide the warmth." He murmured against Jarred's throat, and was pleased when the older man shivered slightly. Fingers trailed up his bare back, tracing his spine. His hands were warm.

"I am concerned for you, my love. You are getting thinner." Jarred stepped back to look him in the eyes. "And you do not sleep for nearly as long as you need. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, and your skin is too pale."

"I cannot sleep." He shrugged and turned towards the trees. "Come, Jarred. I shall require your body heat." Jarred did not hesitate to follow his younger lover. They retreated to the shadows, the one place they both felt safe. The darker, the better. It was in the shadows that his lover dropped his guard, if only a little. The moment they were enclosed by shadows and their furry escorts, Jarred was shoved roughly to the ground and had a frozen body pressed against him in seconds. They kissed, fierce and rough, as their hands explored, roaming over bodies they had all but memorized. Jarred knew that the younger man needed violence, fury and blood. He thrived on it. There was something dark about him now – he'd always been a bit mysterious, and Jarred had willingly accepted him for some of his more unusual interests. Now, however, those interests had become a necessity for him, and Jarred accepted that just as willingly.

He bit down on his lover's lower lip, drawing blood. He knew that was the best way to bring life into him. The taste of blood sent him wild. Sure enough, the kiss became rougher, the fingers trailing over his body pressed harder into his flesh, nails raking over his skin. A low growl sounded in the back of his lover's throat, and Jarred couldn't stop the soft groan from escaping his own. He loved it when he became feral. He was about to take things further when, with another growl, his lover's head snapped up to stare into the darkness beyond. The concentration in those sapphire eyes told Jarred that something was there, watching. Waiting.

With a snarl, the younger man bolted up and into the trees, leaving Jarred to turn and stare after him. There was silence for a moment, and then a shriek of agony. For a moment, Jarred's heart stopped, until his brain reassured him that the shriek had not come from his lover's mouth. Another cry of pain, and then a scream. The scream was abruptly cut off, and Jarred listened hard for any other sounds. None came. A few long moments passed and there came the sound of soft footsteps, coming in his direction. Eventually, his lover returned. Jarred gasped at the sight.

He was covered almost head-to-toe in blood.

He was licking it from his fingers as he approached, eyes closed. Strands of his hair were plastered to his face, the rest of it already matted with the thick substance. His bare chest was painted almost completely red. He left a trail of red splatters, leading off into the darkness. His eyes opened and Jarred saw the fire slowly dying out in the crystal blue orbs, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The darkness was already passing. The internal shadows were receding.

"Someone got lucky." His voice was low and husky, as it always was after the shadows had crept into his mind. "And then their luck ran out."

If anyone asked Jarred if he was ever scared of his younger lover, or threatened by him, he would be lying if he said no. Although he accepted and adored him, there were times when Jarred feared for his own safety. The fears quickly passed, of course. His blood-spattered prince would never harm him. There were occasions where the shadows took longer to fall away, when his lover would look at him with those cold, dead eyes and he felt a shiver of dread run through his very soul, but he took comfort in knowing that as long as he loved him, as long as he was true and faithful, he was safe from the darkness.

"You know… it is All Hallows Eve tonight." The younger man went on. "There is an ancient tradition for this special night."

"Oh?"

"A bloodthirsty, brutal, savage tradition." He had known it would be such. What other type of tradition would attract the attention of his dark angel? "It is tradition to savagely sacrifice any who fall across your path of shadows, until the morning light drowns them out." Jarred reached out and swept back the hair that flopped down over his lover's forehead, and leant forward to press a kiss to those bloodied lips.

"A tradition you wish to take part in, my love?" A nod, accompanied by that dark smile he had come to love. "Then we shall do so."

He knew that people thought he was just as mad as his lover. After all, he had sat back and watched as he'd slaughtered hundreds, including his friends and family – and Jarred's daughter – and then helped him to escape Del before someone named him as the culprit. He had killed the king of Deltora. If he was seen, he was to be killed instantly.

Jarred suspected he would suffer the same fate.

Although, if the executioner was wise, they would kill his lover before him. If they had no desire to continue living, of course, then they would kill him first. If they even got close enough to do damage, his beautiful lover would tear them limb from limb with his bare hands. He had seen the damage that dark man could do to someone who hurt him. It would be a very stupid move, indeed, to harm him in front of his eyes.

"What did you do with the unlucky assassin?" Jarred questioned. Those ocean eyes met his, and the dark smile returned.

"I left him for the wolves." He shouldn't find that menacing growl so arousing, but he did. "After I tore out his insides and left them splayed about him like treasure." He took the bloodied hands in his own, lifted them to his lips, and kissed the fingers one by one. He tasted the metallic tang of blood, could smell it strongly, but he did not care. Blood came hand in hand with this relationship. He would not have it any other way.

"They still chase us, my love. I fear they will never give up."

"Oh they will. Too many have died already. And they will not follow us forever."

"You killed their king, and their queen. You are solely responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men and women. The families will want their revenge. They will never stop searching for you. They will wish your death for many years. They will not be satisfied until your body is shown to them, and destroyed before their eyes."

"Then they will wait forever."

*

When the rain finally came, the ground was awash with blood. In the bushes surrounding their makeshift camp, several disfigured and dismembered bodies lay to rest, tossed carelessly out of the way once their killer was finished with them. Jarred sat, surrounded by the dogs, watching as his lover finished off the latest victim. He was following the savage tradition of All Hallows Eve well. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to stumble upon their camp was instantly slaughtered.

As the rain pelted down, the blood-coated man stepped out into the downpour, watching as the blood began to slowly wash away, dripping onto the ground around him and trickling away in gushing red rivers. He stretched out his arms either side of him and threw his head back, staring up into the rain. He blinked water from his eyes and tried to focus his sight on the stars. Arms circled his waist and a warm body pressed against his back. Jarred was also spattered with blood, although he had done no killing.

He pressed his lips to his lover's neck and tightened his grip. The man was so beautiful when he was soaked with the blood of another. It seemed to shimmer on his skin, as though it had been made for his decoration. Red was definitely his colour. His lover tilted his head right back so that it was resting on his shoulder and his eyes slipped closed. Jarred turned his head to press a soft kiss on his lips.

"Barda!" The shout was an unknown voice from an unknown man, hiding somewhere in the darkness. _Twang_. It was the telltale signs of an archer. Jarred had barely time to register which direction the arrow was coming from before a sharp bolt of pain shot through his left shoulder. Jerking to one side, he gazed down and exclaimed in shock at the sight of an arrow head protruding from his shoulder, the whole thing dripping with his blood.

He heard a low, threatening growl.

He saw the fire flare up in Barda's eyes.

And knew that the archer had about five more seconds left to live.

With a savage snarl Barda leapt upon the man, tearing the bow from his hands and tossing it aside. With a series of angry barks, their dogs bolted from the shadows, to circle the archer, cutting off any escape he had. One of their lead dogs, Hunter, was at Barda's side, his jaws latched onto the archer's right forearm. His gasps and cries of pain went unheard as man and dog tore at him with brutal fury. Blood splashed onto the soaked ground, washing away as quickly as it spilled. Jarred clutched at his injured shoulder and watched as Barda tore out the man's heart, holding it high in the air. He threw his head back and laughed hysterically, fresh blood spraying up onto his face. This was the darker side of Barda. The side that lived only for the slaughter of others. The side that enjoyed taking lives and spilling blood. The side that sometimes scared Jarred.

Barda tossed the heart to Hunter, who ripped it open with his teeth. Barda stood, leaving the archer's body where it was. The dogs would drag it away into the shadows, either to hide it amongst the others, or to play with it until they grew bored of it. Then Barda was at his side, inspecting the wound. It wasn't too bad. The archer had clearly not been aiming for him at all, or perhaps it was too dark and visibility was low. Either way, he would be okay. Barda snapped off the tail of the arrow and threw it away, and then eased the arrowhead out the other side. Jarred winced in pain as it pulled free, and then gasped as a warm, wet tongue lapped at the blood that gushed forward from the open wound.

He grabbed a fistful of Barda's hair and gently eased his head up so that their eyes were level, and then tugged him forward for a bruising kiss. He didn't understand why, but he could not get enough of blood-soaked Barda. There was something erotic about it in his eyes. Warm, soft fur brushed against them on both sides. Hunter and Marmalade, their two lead dogs, had returned to them. Blood lined Hunter's muzzle. The black and white dog was, in Jarred's eyes, the canine version of his beautiful lover. Savage, brutal, and his protectors. No one hurt Jarred. Ever.

"We should move on from here, Doom." Barda growled. "More will come. He will not have travelled alone." Jarred nodded. When Barda called him Doom instead of Jarred, it was a sign that the shadows were still in possession of his mind.

"I will fetch the dogs." He turned and jogged back into the shadows to collect what little possessions they had, and to round up the rest of their dogs. He turned and smiled at the sight that met him. Barda was once again standing with his arms outstretched, face tilted to the sky, eyes closed. On either side of him was a large dog, their bloodied muzzles lifted towards the heavens.

As one, all three let out a blood-curdling howl.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** This was written as an in-between piece for Red Christmas and the original sequel I was working on. This is just to show how things have been since the events of Red Christmas, how they're getting on together, and the state of Barda's mind. He's still a bit cuckoo, clearly. Doom, too, if you think about it. I tried to tone down the violence because I know a couple of people couldn't read, or were uncomfortable with reading Red Christmas. I was going to post this on Halloween, but I hadn't quite got it finished, so the next day will have to do. Really there isn't much to do with Halloween in the story (mainly because I don't think they even HAD Halloween in Deltora) so I added in a (fake) tradition surrounding All Hallows Eve. I think it fits, considering we're talking about Psycho!Barda here. Oh, and the dogs names are relevant. They will be more relevant in the sequel I was already writing, so yeah... if I post that up (which may not happen), you'll understand it a bit more._

_Hope you liked it XD_

_- homesweethomicide13_


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